The Curious Case of Drake Merwin
by The Timeless Clock
Summary: Drake Merwin, the boy that no psychiatrist could figure out. The boy who hurt for fun and laughed while he did it. This is the story of the boy who did many bad things. This, is the curious case of Drake Merwin.
1. In Which We Meet Mr Kingsley

**Author's Note: So, I'm going to attempt to show Drake's life before the FAYZ. Even though this must have been done countless times before, I'm determined to show Drake as he should be (in my opinion). I'm not even going to try and get inside Drake's head, which is why I'm writing this is third person. Oh, and, don't be put off by the fact Drake hasn't made an appearance yet, he'll be coming in soon, this is just sort of an introduction to the story. Anyway, hope you enjoy this ****and**** please leave any thoughts you have about this. (I want to improve and I will do my best to do so) Thank you :)**

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Mr Kingsley stirred his black coffee carefully, the only sound in the silent office was the clink of metal against china. He sighed and pushed his small round spectacles further up his nose. Mr Kingsley was a serious man with serious dark eyes and an immaculate serious looking black suit. Even though there were no creases in his tailored suit there were creases all over his face, most of them caused by countless years of frowning and stern words. His black hair was combed back and looked a little too much like plastic for comfort when it caught the light. Frederick Kingsley had a reputation for being one of the best psychiatrists in the United Kingdom, who dealt with difficult cases and considerably dangerous people. He hadn't failed yet and he wasn't planning on doing so in the future. At this moment in time he was in America, having been called over by several other psychiatrists to take a look at a case nobody else had quite managed to crack. He was offered a great deal of money so, naturally, he agreed to the job. After all, he hadn't failed yet and what was one more mental person to deal with? Nothing, as far as he was concerned.

The door to the office swung open and a man who went by the name of Alan Farmer strode in, loosening a bright red tie at his neck. "My, it's quite in here!" He exclaimed. Mr Kingsley stopped stirring his steaming coffee and rested the spoon on the saucer. "There is only me, besides yourself, in the room, so of course it would be quiet. I, myself, had nobody to talk to and I'm not in the habit of talking to myself. That is why, Mr Farmer, I am the psychiatrist and not locked up in one of my own asylums." Mr Kingsley spoke softly with a perfect English accent. Although his words were quiet, they were the sort of words with a commanding air about them. This was the sort of man you listened to. "Ah, you have a point there Freddie." Said Alan, chuckling to himself. He sat down on a chair opposite to Mr Kingsley and ran a hand through his mop of unruly brown hair. "Any more coffee?" He gestured to the pot on the table.

"Yes, of course." Said Mr Kingsley in a rather bored tone of voice "help yourself. But, please, call me Frederick." He would, in actual fact, have rather been called Mr Kingsley but it was hopeless trying to get that across to some people. Frederick sipped his black coffee that was so strong it would have had most other people reaching for a glass of water, but he was fond of strong coffee and watched in something close to disgust as Alan Farmer dropped his fourth sugar cube into his own cup. "I have quite the sweet tooth," he said, grinning "so, what's your business over here in America?"

"I have been called to deal with a case nobody else seems to be able to take care of, I am yet to receive to details of the person in question."

"Oh! Wait! You're Frederick Kingsley, aren't you?" Mr Kingsley just about refrained from rolling his eyes at this exclamation, hadn't he just introduced himself to the man a matter of hours ago? He'd been there to greet him at the door. "Yes, Mr Farmer, I am indeed." Said Frederick, wondering how exactly this man had made it into the profession. Surely he needed someone to look at his own head before he was trusted with someone else's? "You're the guy we sent for! The one who's gonna sort out..._him."_ Frederick winced inside at the poor language and pronunciation but his face remained impassive as he sipped his coffee. After a few moments of silence he asked "might I ask who _he _is?" The look that spread across Alan's face was one of terror, as if the devil himself had made an appearance in the room. "He's a psychopath. A right mental case. We have no idea where his motives lie nor do we know how to change his way of thinking. He's got us all stumped." Alan paused for a moment and then said "_he _is Drake Merwin."

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Drake Merwin, as you may have heard, is something of a strange boy, although this hadn't always been the case. In his early years, Drake had been a normal boy with a normal family. He was a little on the boisterous side and disregarded most rules, but other than that he was just like any other boy of his age. Things started to go downhill as he got older, his behaviour got worse and he found himself in more and more trouble. Drake started off as someone who found it difficult to understand what was right and wrong and didn't know when to keep his mouth shut, just your average irritating child. He had a few friends at school that he gradually lost in later years. Drake had an odd sense of humour, laughing when people fell or hurt themselves and he didn't have very much in common with anyone else. He bullied quite a few students, first scaring them mentally with words about torture and then physically, by hitting them or causing them harm...in a most creative fashion.

It was when Drake was around 10 years old that the teachers at his school felt the need to alert his parents that something was seriously wrong. It was parents evening and Mr David Merwin and Mrs Sarah Merwin were sat in Drake's classroom with his teacher, Mr Higgs. "A pleasure to see you, Mr and Mrs Merwin. It's good of you to come here tonight." Said Mr Higgs kindly. "Drake has always been quite the character but there a few things I've noticed recently that have started to concern me."

"Is it to do with his writing? Dyslexia or something?" Said Sarah, her brow furrowed a little.

"No, no." Replied Mr Higgs, shaking his head "the quality of the writing itself is excellent, it's just the content I'm concerned about."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you're talking about." Said David.

"Well, let me read you a little. I'd asked the class to write a short story, containing two of these words: kitchen, police, tree or shoes and Drake chose kitchen and police and wrote really quite well, just not in the way I had hoped. This is what he wrote: _The man lay dying on the floor. The tiles were now stained with blood. Red blood. It dripped off the kitchen knife I was holding. Drip. Drip. Drip. The man's eyes were wide and staring as he twitched in pain. I took great enjoyment in seeing him scream but now he was silent. Soon to be silent forever. One of the neighbours had called the police but it was far too late by the time they arrived. The man was already dead and I was long gone. Gone from the scene of the crime and away from the body in the kitchen. Taking only my kitchen knife with me._" Mr Higgs laid Drake's book on the table and watched Sara and David's faces for a reaction.

"Well...well, he certainly has quite an active imagination." Said Sarah, baffled.

"Quite." Said Mr Higgs, looking nervous. "You must understand that, this isn't normal for a boy of his age. Maybe in a few years if he had been asked to write a horror story it would have been acceptable, but now..." Mr Higgs shook his head. "I think you should also take a look at some of the things he's been drawing." Various images of weapons were put on the table and Drake's parents' concern only grew. "I will give you Drake's book for you to have a look at yourself and decide an appropriate course of action, however I would sincerely recommend having a doctor talk to your son. It's not just his work that reflects his thoughts...it's his actions as well. Even though nothing serious has happened yet, it won't be long. As you aware Drake has bullied a few of the other students, something quite a few children go through, it's just part of growing up. However, Drake's way of bullying was quite...unusual and I fear that there may be something...not quite right."

"Are you quite sure you aren't over reacting, Mr Higgs?" Said David, although he too was concerned about his son's mentality.

"Believe me, sir. I'm not."


	2. A special case

**Author's Note: Ok, if any of you are confused at why Drake meets Mr Kingsley so early in the story it is because I'm going to do two points of view in this story. First, there is going to be the more 'present' time, where Drake is now seen as a psychopath and he sees Mr Kingsley on a regular basis. Then, there's going to be the part where you go back to Drake's childhood and he was just developing sadism. **

**Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this and please keep on giving me feedback. All reviews are welcome and I look forward to hearing improvements and any other things you have to say. Thank you :)**

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"Drake Merwin?"

"Who wants to know?" Said Drake, slumping in his chair, a bored look upon his face. The room was rather dull really, although it was originally made to seem cheery. The yellow walls, since their day of painting, had faded and were now a sort of dirty white. The bright pictures on the wall were peeling at the edges and their colour had also been a victim to time and sunlight.

"My name is Mr Kingsley." Said Frederick, a little stiffly "I'm going to ask you a few questions, Drake. You see, I've heard that you've been having a few...issues, as of late and I'm going to try and help you." Mr Kingsley spoke kindly...well, as kindly as he could. Mr Kingsley's voice wasn't exactly kind, you'd understand if you'd heard it yourself. Drake didn't appear to be listening, his eyes were glazed over as he looked at Mr Kingsley with a slightly amused expression on his face. "Drake, are you listening?"

Drake seemed to wake up then and he blinked a few times, then said "Oh, sorry." It was apparent in his tone that he was most definitely not sorry. Mr Kingsley was not a fool and he found children such as this, tiresome. Drake wore an expression of complete sincerity on his face as he said "I was just imagining what you would look like tied to a chair with several degrees of burns on your face." His eyes seemed to smile then and Mr Kingsley wasn't quite sure whether he was joking or not. "Mr Merwin, I hardly think that-"

"Do you suppose that it would hurt, Mr Kingsley?" Said Drake, leaning forward.

"-that is a suitable form of conversation." Finished Frederick, his eyes narrowing.

"But do you?" Continued Drake, completely unfazed.

"Do I what, Merwin?" Mr Kingsley had quickly seen that friendly tones were not going to work on this boy. He shouldn't have presumed they would, really, since Drake was one of the _special _cases.

"Think that it would hurt. Burning, I mean."

"Yes, I think it would hurt quite a lot, however-"

"Good." Said Drake, actually smiling for the first time "I'll be sure to try it." Mr Kingsley paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts and analysing the behaviour that Drake had displayed so far. "Drake, I think that you are forgetting the reason we are here."

"No, sir, I haven't forgotten." Said Drake, a little bit of a dangerous edge to his voice "but you see, your reasons are much different than mine. You are here to help me but I, on the other hand, am planning on getting something else out of this meeting."

"And what, pray tell, might that be?"

"You're the psychiatrist, Mr Kingsley, not me." Said Drake, smiling his shark like smile "You find out for yourself." At this point Frederick had made a firm resolve in his head to do exactly that but wasn't going to voice his opinions out loud. The meeting carried on with Mr Kingsley having little success in getting any useful information out of Drake. "Thank you for your time, Drake Merwin. You are now free to go." Out of habit, Frederick reached for his cup of coffee that was now stone cold.

"Like your coffee hot, do you Mr Kingsley?" Mr Kingsley stared at Drake with that blank expression he almost permanently carried upon his face. "You want to be careful. Dangerous thing, hot coffee." As Drake made for the door he turned back one last time and said "burns," very quietly. But Mr Kingsley was not a fool and he recognised a threat when he saw one.

As Mr Kingsley walked to the office where he'd left his coat and bowler hat, he thought about Drake Merwin. He was nothing special. Just another boy with something wrong with his brain. Just your typical psychopath. He couldn't quite fathom why he needed to come all this way to sort him out, he was an easy job. Yes, Drake had threatened him but he hadn't tried to kill him in the first five minutes of the meeting. Just talk, he wouldn't actually do anything. Empty threats and lies. Frederick walked into the office to the sound of Alan Farmer singing along to some pop song on the radio. He winced at the loud sounds, the out of tune singing and lyrics that made no sense at all. Didn't people know what good music was anymore? Obviously not. Alan turned around and exclaimed "how are you doing, Freddie?" Shaking his hand vigorously.

"I am well, thank you Mr Farmer."

"How was...?" Alan trailed off.

"Nothing special. A perfectly normal case of sadism, nothing extreme. He wants to make out he's better than me, wants to try and scare me. But I am a man of experience and, to me, he's just an irritating little boy."

"So...you've sorted him out then?"

"Mr Farmer, I'm a psychiatrist, not a magician. You cannot make psychopathic behaviour disappear by clicking your fingers. It is a long, drawn out process."

"But I thought with your reputation and all-"

"I am not known for my speed, but my results, which is the most important thing."

"Well said!" Said Alan, clapping Mr Kingsley on the back. "See you later then, Freddie." Alan Farmer waved as Frederick made his way to the door. He tipped his hat and said "good day" and then he was gone. As Mr Kingsley walked down the busy street he thought _Merwin might be unsettling to be in a room with, but at least he gets my name right. _

Mr Kingsley arrived in the room he was staying in. Tasteless, absolutely tasteless. The colours were too bright and glaring, the furniture rather wobbly and paintings of...well, Mr Kingsley wasn't quite sure what they were of, they just looked like the work of a three year old to him. Splashes and dots of colour all mingling together.

Later, Mr Kingsley was sat in his living room steaming coffee beside him. Black, as usual. Chocolate on a plate. Dark, of course. Mr Kingsley found the only chocolate he could stomach was dark chocolate. Milk chocolate was far too sweet, no flavour. You just got bombarded with sugar coating your tongue. White chocolate wasn't much better. Far too sickly. Mr Kingsley ordered his chocolate from a special supplier, it wasn't cheap but he had money. It was that sort of chocolate that's almost 100% cocoa and 0% milk, 0% sugar. Of course, it wasn't, but it was the sort of chocolate that if anyone else tried it they wouldn't recognise it as chocolate but something bitter and too strong. But Mr Kingsley wasn't anyone and he liked his strong, dark flavours.

As Mr Kingsley indulged himself with his dark chocolate and black coffee his music played in the background. Classical. What else? He believed that the true masters lived in the past and their music never died. Nobody of today quite lived up to the standard. Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin...they, amongst others, were the only true musicians of the world. Frederick picked up a file he had been given that day, a brown one with DRAKE MERWIN on the front in block letters. Underneath that it said STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL. Mr Kingsley sighed and began reading about the boy that has wreaked so much havoc amongst American psychiatrists.

After a few minutes of scanning the page Mr Kingsley almost choked on his chocolate. His eyes widened and he began to leaf through the pages his eyes resting for just a moment on each of the headings _**Drake Merwin assaults another student, Drake Merwin is found with lethal weapons, Drake Merwin watches disturbing video. **_Mr Kingsley stopped and began to read: _Drake Merwin was seen watching a disturbing video of a murder that took place some miles away. The video had been kept as evidence by the police for government purposes and was not shown to the public as it contained alarming scenes of violent stabbings picked up by a CCTV camera. The video was kept on a police network and Drake Merwin was found viewing it in his bedroom and laughing as the victim died. This- _Mr Kingsley snapped the file shut and stared at the wall opposite him. _Looks like there is more to this boy then meets the eye _he thought _perhaps he is a special case after all. _


	3. Playing Games

**Author's Note: Here is the next chapter of the life of our favourite sadist, Drake Merwin. His ordinary life but messed up mind. Anyway, I've put another note at the end to say where I got my inspiration from. Hope you enjoy it and don't forget to leave me some feedback, no matter what you thought. Thank you :)**

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Breakfast in the Merwin household was pretty much the same day in day out. David leaned back in his chair, studying a newspaper and slowly sipping a mug of tea. Sarah sorted through various pieces of paper in between bites of toast. Drake sat staring at his bowl, stirring around the milk and prodding the cereal with distaste. He wasn't impressed with the healthy, multi vitamin stuff that had been placed in front of him for the fourth time that week. Sarah insisted it was good for his health but she usually left to go to work before Drake went to school, and was oblivious to the fact that her darling son surreptitiously poured the contents of his bowl down the sink as soon as the door closed behind her. David frowned as he turned over the page in his newspaper "what is it?" Asked Sarah "not the banks again?"

"No." Said David, his eyes scanning the page "it says here that by the age of seven most children have seen over a thousand murders on television." He snorted "statistics these days. Drake's just turned seven and-"

"Why that's awful." Gasped Sarah, forever the worrier "don't you think it's disturbing to think that...those poor children..." David rolled his eyes at his over reacting wife and turned his attention to an article about counterfeit money. Drake looked up from his soggy bowl of cereal and, his face a picture of innocence, said "but, I'm seven. Does that mean me too?"

"Yes, but you won't have seen any such thing, don't worry." Said Sarah, ruffling Drake's hair as she went past.

"But, that's not fair!" Cried Drake.

"I know it isn't, dear. It's terrible the things grownups do these days."

"It's just...I..." Drake frowned as if in deep thought "that must mean I've been watching all the wrong channels." Sarah stopped dead, not quite sure what to make of her son's sudden exclamation but David just burst out laughing. "What's so funny?" Said Sarah, hands on hips.

"Those stupid statistics! They don't know what they're talking about and here's you getting all wound up about it. See, Drake hasn't even noticed. You fuss too much, really."

Sarah frowned slightly and said "come on, Drake. I'll take you to school this morning." Drake, delighted at the thought of leaving his untouched cereal on the table, scraped back his chair and hurried to the door leaving his statement hanging in the air. Was it just a silly thing any young child would come out with? Or did it...mean something?

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Mr Kingsley disapproved of most games, he found that they wasted one's time when something far more productive could be done. However, children seemed to enjoy them and this particular game usually produced most interesting results. Drake Merwin sat, once again, in the chair opposite Mr Kingsley's desk, the same bored expression on his face. It was getting a little old, a little tiring. All these young people, they tried to act uninterested all the time. They really had no imagination. Well, these were Mr Kingsley's thoughts on the matter as he studied Drake's face with curiosity. "Today, Drake, we are going to play a game."

"I don't play games." Said Drake. Uninterested. Predictable. But then, something sparked in his eye "well...not your types of games anyway." Mr Kingsley didn't even bother thinking about what sort of games the young sadist had in mind, he was sure they would be even less pleasant than the thought of having to play 'Simon says' or 'I spy'. Frederick shuddered at the thought of playing games with several babbling children, far too happy. Too normal. He worked with special cases and, usually, he didn't have time for games. "Well, Merwin, we are going to play a game. An associating game. I will say a word and then you will say another word that has a relation to my word and so on. Are we clear?"

"As a bell." Said Drake, folding his arms and fixing Mr Kingsley with one of his icy glares.

"Then we will begin." Frederick picked up his silver fountain pen, ready to jot down anything...peculiar in the boy's behaviour. "Tree."

"Wood."

"Table."

"Kitchen."

"Plate."

"Knife." Mr Kingsley paused for a mere moment, to see if there was any sinister meaning behind this word but he detected nothing other than an uninterested look in Drake's unblinking eyes. Nevertheless, he made a quick note at the first word Drake had mentioned that was...questionable. "Fork." Continued Frederick.

"Devil." Again Mr Kingsley stopped, this time Drake appeared to have gone a little more out of his way to say something...unnerving. Strange. He jotted it down and underlined it before carrying on the game. "Red."

"Blood." It could have been a trick of the light but Drake's eyes appeared to sparkle and the side of his mouth twitched. Mr Kingsley frowned and underlined 'blood' on his notepad.

"Ok, Drake. Can you tell me how you feel about the words that you told me?"

Drake slowly raised an eye brow and looked at Mr Kingsley as if thinking 'did you just ask me that?' "Well?" Said Frederick, losing patience.

"You want me to tell you how I feel about...wood?" Said Drake.

Mr Kingsley sighed "how about we start with knife?"

Drake shrugged, as if he couldn't care less "they're useful tools."

"Tools for what, may I ask?

"Where've you been living, Kingsley? You never used a knife before?" Mr Kingsley said nothing, unimpressed. Kingsley, he thought refraining the urge to shake his head, it was almost as bad as Freddie. Almost. "Well, you know, people use them in the kitchen." It was almost as if a shadow passed across Drake's face then, his eyes narrow and his mouth twisted into a sinister smile. Not everyone can manage to smile and look scary at the same time. Drake could. "Cutting. They're good for cutting. Sharp ones...they take less time but if the blade is blunt...well, it offers more of a challenge." Of, course, Drake could be referring to chopping vegetables or meat. If anyone else had said it, they probably would have meant no harm with the words. But Drake wasn't just anyone and Mr Kingsley doubted that the boy's problems were self harming. He doubted even more that Drake aspired to be a gourmet chef one day with his own restaurant.

"How about devil, Drake?" Said Frederick, whilst making a note of Drake's answer, the change in behaviour, tone of voice. Drake paused, waiting for Mr Kingsley to look at him.

"If you sell your soul to him, you'll never get it back. Once you've gone too far on the path to hell, you're never going back." Drake answered in the most infuriating way, as if he wanted Mr Kingsley to be uncertain of his answers. To be guessing. "The devil will take you places, if you'll go with him." Unnerved but determined not to show it, Frederick wrote down Drake's answer.

"Blood?" Mr Kingsley asked, almost dreading the answer.

"Well, it's red isn't it?" Said Drake, stating the obvious. "Did I ever mention that red was my favourite colour, Mr Kingsley?" Such a subtle hint yet it said so much. Chilled, Mr Kingsley put down his pen and gathered his nerves for just one more game before the session ended. "Thank you, Merwin. Just one more game before you go. House."

Drake's eyes lit up "Slaughter house." _Well, he's certainly not trying to hide it anymore, _thought Mr Kingsley.

There wasn't much else he could say to this so he said "slaughter." He tried to stay away from words such as this that might provoke his patient into saying something but he wanted to see Drake's reaction. Any normal person should have replied animals or maybe blood or a type of weapon but Drake, being Drake, said "laughter."

"Just before you go, Drake. Can I ask why you chose laughter? It isn't the funniest thing, is it?"

"Well, Kingsley. If you were starving to death and you slaughtered an animal, which was your only chance of survival, you'd be laughing, wouldn't you?" Drake paused, letting Frederick mull over his answer "have you ever starved, Merwin?"

"No." Said Drake "doesn't mean I can't laugh though." With that, he left, without so much as a backward glance, leaving Mr Kingsley to contemplate his answers. He sat with his cold cup of coffee and thought _in all my years of talking to psychopaths, I've never met one quite like this. _Then he too left the office, in need of a good book and square of dark chocolate. _A hot cup of coffee might be an idea as well _thought Mr Kingsley, pouring the remains of his stone cold drink away.

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**Author's Note:**

**The 'children have seen a thousand murders by the age of seven' idea comes from Calvin and Hobbes. (A comic strip by Bill Watterson, it actually says 'a million murders by the age of 6' but that seemed a bit farfetched. The 'I've been watching all the wrong channels' was in the same place, but that's all I got from it. It's a four frame comic strip but it gave me the idea.)**

**The game played by Mr Kingsley and Drake comes from 'Scorpia Rising' By Anthony Horowitz (which I recently read). But it was just the idea of the game that came from there, not what was actually said. **

**I guess I feel guilty not giving this people some credit ^_^**


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